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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27411586">Depths I Dare Not</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dread_thehalfhanded/pseuds/dread_thehalfhanded'>dread_thehalfhanded</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Belly Kink, Come Inflation, Come as Lube, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dream Sex, M/M, Name-Calling, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Smut, Wet Dream, belly bulge</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:28:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,037</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27411586</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dread_thehalfhanded/pseuds/dread_thehalfhanded</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Roche comes across a pond in the woods that draws the viewer in, feeding on their energies, causing a dream-state that forces the dreamer to experience visceral emotions based on their worst fears… and deepest desires.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Iorveth/Vernon Roche</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Depths I Dare Not</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He woke suddenly to the dream, and the springtime of his grief fell on him again, heavy as he once remembered.</p>
<p>Kneeling, Roche felt his knees kneeling on grass, grass by a black stream, but he felt nothing but his pain—new—old—<em>familiar</em>, nourished at the breast. Sorrow, aching, that cleaved him right down to the gut. </p>
<p>Foltest, Foltest, Foltest. “King” too big a word, “lover” too small, there were not enough words in all the tongues he knew to say what that man had been to him.</p>
<p>He had not seen the body. Had refused to see the body.</p>
<p>All he had ever loved, lived for, cut off in an instant, extinguished like a lesser man. Did it matter, that he did not know what he had looked like in death, cold-purple skin puckering over bone?</p>
<p>The grisly, betrayed face had haunted his dreams for years after, guilt his faithful bedmate.  </p>
<p>Roche struggled, briefly waking, against the water that enveloped him.  </p>
<p>Geralt’s parting words rang in his mind.</p>
<p>“It’s an old place, cursed and strong. You know harpies eat dreams? These creatures grow their own. They feed on strong emotions, fear, anger, love. They’ll dig right down to the deeps of you and tell you things about yourself you never wanted to know—before they swallow you whole.”</p>
<p>The witcher had shivered, as though it was too much for even his mutant-enhanced sensibilities. </p>
<p>“Like a vegetable garden?” he’d quipped then.</p>
<p>Geralt had shaken his head.</p>
<p>“If you find a pond clear and blue as summer sky, but you cannot see the bottom—run. Run, and do not look back, whatever it seems to promise you.”</p>
<p>He had, of course, not listened. Dismissed it as the obscure tales of an obscure man who had more to fear from the world than most. Curses, creatures that crept in the dead of night, they came when the fog rolled, and thunder crashed, and for foolish men.</p>
<p>When he’d chanced on the lovely so-blue, oh-so-sweet pool silent in a forest clearing, he’d not thought twice before dipping his hands down, down for a drink—</p>
<p>Felt less like quipping now, drifting in and out between the green grass (so soft, so welcoming) beside a black stream in a sudden dead of night. Didn’t feel so strange as you might think, the journey there. One moment he’d been tipping, tipping, pulled heel-to-head into the cool, sweet, impossible blue under the sun.</p>
<p>And then he was here.</p>
<p>Laying on the grass, he stared up at the moon. Big, round, full. Beautiful, as all such things are.</p>
<p>He shouldn't be here, he knew, here in the dark on the grass under the moon. He had duties. Responsibilities. </p>
<p>But a sinuous sorrow clawed at his throat, and he couldn't remember---</p>
<p>Couldn't. Remember. </p>
<p>He could only think of him. King Foltest, on his coronation day. The proud rise of the back of his head, the cut of his shoulders, the way the crowds screamed his name like you might worship a god. It was good, it was what he deserved—and he’d failed him.</p>
<p>He sat up on the grass all a-sudden, half-surprised to find that he could, a shiver of cognizance pulling him up from the mire of his feelings.</p>
<p>Best to leave those thoughts where they lay.</p>
<p>He knew he had to leave this place, the twisted scent of the black water rising cloying heather-sweet in his nose. Couldn’t remember why. Just knew, with a certainty that permeated flesh and fear alike, that this was no place for a man.</p>
<p>Trees ran in every direction, shepherding the small streambed and the clearing, all stark visible in negative through the moonlight. Hard enough to find a path out of a normal forest, and this one boded only worse. Would have killed to have an elf’s tracking sense about now.</p>
<p>As if on cue, a stranger parted the leaves on the other side of the clearing.</p>
<p>Roche struggled to his feet, burdened with the weight of his being, here in this liminal place. His limbs jellied, disobedient, and he slipped to one knee as the stranger approached.</p>
<p>“Vernon,” said the stranger, and he was suddenly no stranger at all.</p>
<p>In slow horror, Roche raised his head, just as Iorveth reached down to tip his chin up at the jaw.</p>
<p>Cold. His fingertips stung with frost, cold as frozen glass.</p>
<p>His eyes met the elf’s one, heavy-lidded and gentle as his touch. Iorveth was the same as he ever was—he would know that scarred face anywhere. Through the flashing trees, plastered on every signboard north of the Pontar, even here in the strange space between the worlds.</p>
<p>Here, it did not strike him as strange that the elf would put his hands on him. Who else would, except in violence? He ran from the answer, ran from it to—Iorveth. Let the elf have him.</p>
<p>It was his right.</p>
<p>“Vernon,” said the elf again, tracing his jaw with his fingers, the palm of his hand.</p>
<p>Roche leaned into the touch without hesitation, feeling the scrape of skin against skin, the paper of hair pushed against the grain. His voice ground thick and heavy, every inch of its usual pomposity.</p>
<p>But he felt none of the instant rage those airs usually kindled. Instead, he reached out for the elf, bringing him closer, nuzzling against the muscle of his thigh. Here, he could smell him, juniper-sharp and sweet as elder-wine.</p>
<p>He wanted more, even as Iorveth took his head in both his hands and dragged him closer, he wanted more. With his face pressed suddenly against Iorveth’s crotch, he inhaled, feeling the hardness against his cheek, it was as natural as anything to mouth against it.</p>
<p>Iorveth’s sharp intake of breath encouraged him, and it was suddenly so much easier to move, one hand tugging against the elf’s hip, the other clawing at his complicated garments. The elf pushed him away just long enough to skin quickly out of his clothes—and watching the muscles clench and unclench, the smooth panes of muscles and bone, the way the moonlight shadowed over his proud features, Roche couldn’t think why he hadn’t done this sooner.</p>
<p>He stood and took Iorveth in his arms, tilting his head up to catch the elf’s mouth. He’d always wondered how he would taste—hard? Angular? Bitter as every word that left him?</p>
<p>—No. Iorveth was <em>soft</em>. Yielding against his lips, his tongue—</p>
<p>There was some reason he shouldn’t be doing this, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was.</p>
<p>Not like Iorveth was a stranger. He knew him better than he knew himself, knew all his tricks and stratagems, his un-elflike fondness for hand-to-hand combat over archery, his sensitivity over his appearance. How he dressed flashily to compensate, though he would never admit it.</p>
<p>Only natural and right that he should know him like this, too.</p>
<p>Iorveth groaned softly against his mouth, focusing him on the subject at hand.</p>
<p>He tightened his arms around him, folding one hand into the tangled hair on the back of the elf’s head, and pulling him closer still against his mouth. He expected the scratch of bandana between them, but a crack of his eyelid—when had he closed his eyes? —told him that had gone too.</p>
<p>The red, scarred pucker across his face he’d seen only once before, and he drew away to study it again. It began at his hairline, dove into the dead socket in a dearth of darkness, and cut a harsh, pitted groove across the rest of his cheek to his jaw. Tracing it with his fingertips, Roche wondered, not for the first time, how he had come to bear such a scar.</p>
<p>Impatient with his lingering, the elf brough his hand away from his scars and to his lips, pressing a kiss to each finger with unbearable softness before taking two fingers into his mouth and sucking them gently.</p>
<p>Roche groaned softly, and quicker than the eye could follow, Iorveth laid them down. Roche went quietly, letting the elf pin him in a cage of arms and tongue and teeth. It was enough to be surrounded by him, consumed by him, as they rolled over and over in the grass.</p>
<p>Finally, they came to a stop. Roche lay on his belly, with Iorveth plastered to his back and nibbling on his ear. Every sense felt too bold, too sensitive, too much.</p>
<p>“Want me to fill you?” Iorveth breathed against the whorl of his ear.</p>
<p>Roche nodded before he could help himself, the sudden lack of shame almost startling. He’d always been shy about admitting he wanted to be on the receiving end—now the feeling threatened to swallow him whole. He nodded mutely at Iorveth, the hunger in his gut too much to ignore, the words falling from him before he could shove them down again—</p>
<p>“Please, yes, want you in me.” And that wasn’t the half of it.</p>
<p>Iorveth smiled, purring deep in his throat.</p>
<p>“That’s not all you want, is it? There’s more.”</p>
<p>Roche half-whined, and jerked under Iorveth’s large palm.</p>
<p>“Tell me what you want, <em>dh’oine</em>.”</p>
<p>His cock twitched at that, heavy and full under them, the word he knew held so much meaning used for such lurid ends. Iorveth laughed again, dark as bells in a midnight churchyard.</p>
<p>“Come on, Vernon. I know what you want, but you have to tell me.”</p>
<p>“Want, want you. Fill me, please.” It wasn’t begging, it <em>wasn’t.</em></p>
<p>The need to be full, full to overflowing burned in him, eating up his skin, craving buried in his gut crawling out its unmarked grave. Everything he’d buried, everything he’d never had the words to tell his few partners spilled out of him in a few short breaths—</p>
<p>“Nnnh, want you to come in me, want to feel you fill me, want you to come in me again and again until I’m so full of you, Iorveth, just want—I—I want—”</p>
<p>The words weren’t enough for what he wanted, needed, unable to put language to the emptiness within him. Not a new feeling, an old one—an old, familiar emptiness that haunted every waking day if he stopped long enough to listen to it.</p>
<p>But Iorveth, for once in his long life, took pity, and kissed him gently on the mouth.</p>
<p>“I will give you what you need,” he said, rolling his hips against Roche’s and slipping a slicked thumb against his hole.</p>
<p>Almost—almost—so close. Roche trembled with want, his bones sang with it, the raw emptiness in his belly hungered, <em>hungered.</em></p>
<p>He whined, head pressed into the grass, hungry and hard, desperate and half-ashamed still. Iorveth could not let that stand, and wrapped an arm around his chest at the same time as he slid a still-slicked thumb into him. Cold, thick, a pleasant stinging intrusion, the beginning of an end.</p>
<p>The relief was immediate, all-consuming, eclipsing the small stretch and the quick flicker of pain. Two strokes, in and out, and he begged for more. Again, astonishingly compliant, Iorveth gave it to him, adding a finger until he was ready to cry from how much not enough it was.</p>
<p>“Say it,” said Iorveth harshly.</p>
<p>“Fuck—fuck fill me, Iorveth.”</p>
<p>And Iorveth did.</p>
<p>He slid inside of Roche like a sword rammed home, a swift, merciless joining that knocked the breath from his lungs. Roche gasped, and came on the instant, the shock of it pleasure like he’d never felt. Hot white spurts painted the forest floor, and he panted, lost in it, that rich singular feeling of fullness, a gaping hole made perfect in filling.</p>
<p>Iorveth rode him through it, and beyond it, steady rough thrusts and Roche rocked back against him with little rolls, savoring what he had cut short with his quick performance. He blushed, a little, but the elf seemed disinclined to take issue with it.</p>
<p>In just a few more short thrusts, Iorveth shoved into him deeper than deep, and came against him with a soft moan. The cock inside him pulsed, and Roche made a soft noise and rocked back against it as he felt hot, thick liquid blossom inside him.</p>
<p>He expected the elf to take his pleasure, and for that be the end of this, whatever this was.</p>
<p>Instead, Iorveth nuzzled against his neck, teeth scraping tantalizing against the skin there, and continued to rock against him. Roche realized after a moment that the elf was still hard.</p>
<p>“You thought this was going to be one and done, did you?” Iorveth said against his ear, sex-soaked voice grating into the air.</p>
<p>Roche couldn’t have said he had any thoughts at all, really.</p>
<p>“I have more plans for you,” said Iorveth, punctuating every word with a thrust in, the slow drag out, the tip of his cockhead catching against Roche’s rim. “You begged for my cock, and I’m going to give it to you. Gonna give it to you so well…”</p>
<p>His voice trailed off as his hand trailed down, and down, and down—but not far enough. The very tips of his fingertips trailed against Roche’s belly, the flat line of his abdomen softly furred, and traced circles in the space there.</p>
<p>“I’m going to fill you again, and again, and again, Vernon Roche. I’m going to make you round and full with my seed, and then fuck you again, for good measure. You have been a stone in my shoe for so long. I’m going to use you—”</p>
<p>Roche moaned, a breathy, drawn-out helpless sound that he would strongly disavow ever making if questioned later.</p>
<p>“—and you’re going to love it,” finished Iorveth, the sound of his smile unmistakable.</p>
<p>With merciless purpose, he picked up speed again, one arm wrapped around Roche’s middle, both holding him close and still resting a palm against his belly, the other holding them up as he bent Roche nearly double in the grass.</p>
<p>Near-reflexively, Roche started to spread his legs, cock still soft but very interested in continuing regardless, with the pressures and sensations on his ass, his rim, the flutter of fingers across his chest, the promise of <em>more.</em></p>
<p>“Such a whore, aren’t you Vernon? Never would let the rest of the world know it.”</p>
<p>Iorveth drew a circle around Roche’s bellybutton with a single finger, slowing down for a moment as Roche’s breath stuttered in response.</p>
<p>Anyone else, he would mutilated for such an offense, but for him, here?  </p>
<p>“Such a pity. What a loss. You’re wasted on that king of yours.”</p>
<p>Roche’s indignant response was lost when Iorveth sat back suddenly and dragged Roche with him, settling back on his heels. Still buried to the hilt in Roche, he bit gently along the man’s shoulder until the tension of the new position left him. Then, he began to thrust, short and shallow, bouncing Roche on his lap with ease as though he were not a man grown and a soldier besides.</p>
<p>“Watch with me,” said Iorveth through gritted teeth, taking Roche’s hand and placing their entwined fingers over Roche’s abdomen.</p>
<p>He was close, Roche knew—how was <em>that</em> a thing he knew now? –and his own cock twitched in interest. Iorveth thrust up into him without slacking, faster and faster until one final thrust—</p>
<p>Roche felt him. Felt him deep inside himself, the warm gush spreading out from his center and warming him from the inside out. Felt him under his hand, as the very tip of Iorveth’s cockhead pushed against their joined hands and he felt him come, and come, and come. Nothing like a human’s spend, it was so much.</p>
<p>A long moment passed without movement, just the sound of breathing as Iorveth pressed his head against Roche’s trap. Roche stared, fixated on the tiny bulge where his stomach had begun to round out a little, as though he had eaten a large meal.</p>
<p>Iorveth ran his hand over the curve of Roche’s belly and hummed, pleased.</p>
<p>“The call it the divine nectar,” he said, wrapping one arm around Roche’s waist to turn them over.</p>
<p>“Who does?” asked Roche, somewhat disbelievingly.</p>
<p>The elf slipped out of him for a moment, and Roche huffed at the loss. It was temporary—just long enough for the elf to lay the human down on his back, and kneel between his legs.</p>
<p>“Maybe if you studied elven culture, you would know,” he purred, running his fingers through the slick dripping out of him.</p>
<p>“Shut up and finish what you started,” growled Roche.</p>
<p>Taking Roche’s hips in his hands, Iorveth slid into him again, slicked with his own spend, groaning a little at the change in angle. Roche threw his head back in the grass in a soundless cry, now nearly rock-hard again. He felt odd, swollen, nearly impossibly full of Iorveth and Iorveth’s spend, and he felt, that this, this, was all he had ever truly wanted in his life.</p>
<p>Foltest, Temeria, a soldier’s life—everything paled compared to this.</p>
<p>Iorveth appeared to be following his train of thought, as he drug his hips up higher and grinned, a feral half-smile in the moonlight.</p>
<p>“Feel good, yeah?”</p>
<p>Roche nodded, almost unable to form words.</p>
<p>“Not done with you yet.”</p>
<p>As if on command, his brow furrowed, and he pressed his thumb against Roche’s belly even as he pushed in, and in, and in, never leaving the sheath of Roche’s body. When he came again, it was quickly and with intention, gaze locked on the steady, slow growth of the dome of Roche’s stomach.</p>
<p>Roche nearly choked, aroused, wet, wondering how he had missed this his entire life. He was watching too.</p>
<p>Iorveth came three more times in much the same fashion, close together, as though he was trying to wring every drop of pleasure from this night, filling his cup to overflowing. Each time Roche got close now, he would slow, and stop, gripping the base of Roche’s cock to stop him from following him over the edge.</p>
<p>By the time Iorveth neared his next peak, Roche had given up on trying to come again. He was horribly, painfully hard, and his cock bounced red and leaking against his belly—but he could no longer see it.</p>
<p>His gut, now the size of a large melon, or a pregnant woman’s womb, bobbed between them with every slow, heavy thrust of Iorveth’s hips. The elf’s eyes had glazed over watching it, and his free hand stroked the small dome, petting the smooth, stretched skin in circles.</p>
<p>“Iorveth,” gasped out Roche, finally.</p>
<p>Iorveth blinked at him, as if pulled from a dream himself.</p>
<p>“Iorveth—I’m so—please—”</p>
<p>“You’re so what, Vernon?”</p>
<p>He placed a hand on the gelatinous, heavy dome that had become his abdomen. He felt heavy, swollen with cum, and with Iorveth, felt tears leaking from his eyes at how good it felt. He wanted to just lay here, lay here forever and feel this way. He also wanted more—but wasn’t sure if he would burst.</p>
<p>He almost wanted to find out.</p>
<p>“Full,” he choked out. “So full. Can’t. No more. Please.”</p>
<p>“Hmmm,” hummed Iorveth.</p>
<p>Instead of answering, he slipped out of Roche’s hole—but plugged it with his thumb as he moved softly and gently to Roche’s side. With measured care, he turned the man over onto his side, holding him in his arms as he pressed one hand to his hole, keeping in everything he had given him, and with the other stroked down Roche’s swollen stomach to his weeping cock.</p>
<p>“You don’t seem like you want to be done,” he said whisper-soft into Roche’s ear, flicking his hand over the tip of his cock.</p>
<p>Roche shuddered, feeling the mass at his center move with him only sending further spikes of heat through him. Gods. Gods he was full. Full and heavy with the elf.</p>
<p>“Do you want one more?” asked Iorveth, flicking over his cock again, slow and steady, thumbing gently at his rim with the other.</p>
<p>“Yes,” breathed Roche. How he wanted.</p>
<p>He wanted to never leave this place, he wanted to always be this full, this fat with cum, this round and lovely with want and being wanted—</p>
<p>As if on cue, Iorveth pushed into him again, and rocked in-and-out, in-and-out, from hilt to tip, catching and pressing deep into that one place inside that made him lose his mind.</p>
<p>The elf took his hand, and pressed their hands together again against the roundness of his belly. He stilled for a moment to press a kiss to Roche’s ear.</p>
<p>“You see that?” he asked, and the words hung without answer. “See how beautiful you are, Vernon. Fat and full with me. This is what you want, deep in the depths of you, is it not?”</p>
<p>Roche shuddered; he could not deny it.</p>
<p>“Would you like to be this way forever, little dh’oine? Round with my seed—” Roche gasped, arching against him, and Iorveth wrapped a hand around his cock and stroked, “—bear my offspring, kept full of me as much and as often as you like, so no one will ever doubt who you belong to? Would you like to be my whore, Vernon?”</p>
<p>Roche came, harder than he’d ever come in his life, lost in it, the weight in his belly, the feeling of Iorveth hot and hard in him, the vision of a future so far out of reach it could almost be true.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>A thick, strong hand jerked him up, off the grass, through the winter-dark sky, and up-up-up to the rim of the world all in an instant—</p>
<p>He burst through the pond’s surface, soaking wet and gagging, collar tugged flush against his neck. Unceremoniously, he was flung onto the bank of the pond and Geralt—Geralt?—filled his vision, face full of concern.</p>
<p>Roche coughed enthusiastically for several prolonged moments, then took a truly gigantic gasp of air.</p>
<p>“Geralt?” he rasped.</p>
<p>“You’re welcome,” said the witcher, dryly, sitting back on his heels. “You almost died.”</p>
<p>Roche blinked, water running into his eyes, struggling to focus. Behind the curtain of the witcher’s white hair, not a single ripple stirred the surface of the pond. Still blue, a crystalline clear with no discernable end, the water beckoned. Just a quick drink, a quick dip. Just the toes. Just a sip.</p>
<p>He looked down at himself, reflexively, and found himself flat as ever. Soaking wet, yeah, metal and surcoat alike, hose tacky around his waist—oh.</p>
<p>Geralt’s gaze narrowed.</p>
<p>“Are you okay?”</p>
<p>Roche nodded, strangely grateful that he’d been in the water up to his neck, now. Mail might rust, but at least now all of him was wet. Better than just his crotch.   </p>
<p>He coughed again, more to cover his rising flush than to clear his throat. Gods, but that water did not taste as good as it looked. What sort of sorcery had he been under?</p>
<p>“It show you anything?”</p>
<p>Monstrous, the memories showed themselves, full and heavy and ringing with uncomfortable truths. Begun with Foltest, the sting of missing him more than any man had a right to miss their king—but that was all right. But that had not been the half of it.</p>
<p>Roche was not prepared to confront the rest, not any of it. He wanted a nap, and a beer, and to not see a certain elf again for a long time. Probably.</p>
<p>He laid back on the dirt, stared up at the sun-warmed leaves.</p>
<p>“Yeah. Not good. Real creepy.”</p>
<p>“You want to listen to me next time I tell you to stay away from something?”</p>
<p>A pause.</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>Geralt sighed.</p>
<p>“I have to figure out how to drain this. You, go home.”</p>
<p>Roche sniffed, but got stiffly to his feet. His throat still burned, his chest ached, and yet… He felt strangely, unsettlingly empty. As if he’d finally, finally felt what it was to be filled, stretched, sated—and then been ripped away from it with no chance of—</p>
<p>He swallowed, and spared another glance at the glittering water.</p>
<p>Though a small breeze filtered through the clearing, the water remained still as a pane of glass.</p>
<p>Geralt glared at him suspiciously.</p>
<p>“Go.”</p>
<p>Roche went.</p>
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